Isolation sits
in solitary confinement.
A mind to wander, a flutter,
as a blue butterfly
sits on the door over
the hall.
A well starts to bubble
in the throat.
The pathway blocked for now
by the stone of grief choking it back,
and the pain inside,
where the liver partly died.
A brief aside as the nurse
paces around, smiles,
as loudly she enquires,
“Would you like a cup of tea,
some sympathy?”
A cuddle holds me
when the tears finally breach
the stone walls,
for so long unrained upon.
Then it's back to the view... a ward.
Empty bed to the side,
he passed away in the night.
My eyes plastered upon
ceilings of enlightenment.
And I sing along to a song
I heard once upon a daydream,
and the words
bounce across my eyes, lyrics
painting the ceiling,
a Sistine Chapel-like view.
Imagination, and the cocktail
pumping through my blood,
or a true image,
of an unseen world
that we only see when
our minds open the blinds?
I can get through this,
I've got through
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